Blissfully Infatuated
by Faux Puissant
Summary: It had been a while since he's last seen his love. After spending so long without him he was content with the quiet weeks to come. After all, even the mundane became extraordinary with America near him. USUK  pure fluff


This is purely fluff guys. No real rhyme or reason I was just in need of a plot-less fluff scene with these two. :3

I have a bunch of stories that I'm working on that have far more serious and somewhat dark themes to them. So I had to take a break and write something cute. :3

England inhaled a lung-bursting breath of fresh air after exiting the plane. Looking around happily as he adjusted his worn, green duffle bag thrown over his shoulder. It felt so good to be off that stuffy plane. He had endured the closed space for long enough and was more then ready to stretch his legs after almost 11 hours of confined inactivity.

He nodded towards the flight attendants and pilots as he climbed down the metal stairs of his jet. They smiled at him and asked him to tell "Mr. Jones" they said hello.

His personal attendants were all to aware of his relationship with America, seeing as everyone who relatively knew England what-so-ever could plainly see that he was head over heels for the boy. He walked into the moderately busy terminal of the Horizon Flight Center, reminiscing in the fact that he and America had only been dating for three years now. Three years of engagement, fighting, kissing… making love. England blushed as the last though flitted across his the forefront of his mind. Yes, he and America had made love - many times might he add. England wasn't ashamed of that though, it just concreted their relationship because… - England's face heated up another notch - because nothing could ever compare to how good it felt when they made love with each other.

England scrubbed his burning face with the palms of his hands, as if the vigorous rubbing would somehow erase the flushed evidence written clearly across his face.

He had nearly calmed down when a sharp whistle made him turn his head towards a small group of people.

America was amongst a throng of individuals holding up signs of various travelers' last names. The blonde, however, was not holding a name card. Rather, it was a torn piece of notebook paper with a crudely rushed attempt of the British flag drawn on it's crumpled surface. Upon closer inspection, the crayoned art was also drawn incorrectly. Typical.

All mistakes were forgiven though when America made eye contact with him, baby blues flashing with joy as he jumped the rail and bounded up to him. England hardly had time to drop his carry on before he was scooped up into an impossibly tight bear hug. America twirled as he lifted England up, much like what you saw in those old sappy romance movies. (England was quite sure that was exactly what America was attempting to copy) The taller of the two stopped his spinning long enough to gave the older nation a quick peck on the cheek.

"Hey, Sweetie Pie!" America grinned, ignoring the odd looks thrown at him as he set England back down and bent down to retrieve his boyfriend's carry-on. "Did you miss me?"

England's cheeks warmed as he gave the younger of the two a disapproving look. America had been trying, and failing, to find "The perfect pet name" for England. It had been a constant battle for the young nation to come up with a good name, throwing out horrendous titles like "Pookie Bear" and "Snuggle Pants." England remembered decking the country for calling him "Luscious Brows" right in front of France, but the damage had already been done. Now that name was the only way the snail sucking bastard ever referred to him now.

"Keep trying." England stated blandly. He knew better then to ask America to stop calling him those names, so he simply took it in stride as one of America's twisted way of showing that he really cared. The ex-empire eyes softened and a warm smile pulled at his lips."-and yes, I missed you terribly to be perfectly honest."

England hadn't thought America could shine any brighter, but the boy still managed to put on a wider smile as he grabbed hold of England's hand.

"Let's get you home okay?" He insisted, tugging on his boyfriend's hand as he led the two from the airport to outside.

"Anything in particular ya wanna do now that your home?" America asked as he yanked out his house keys from the depths of his abused jeans, fumbling with them to find the right one. The two ascended the short flight of stone steps to pause momentarily at America's front door. The house was a lovely old fashioned red brick house, with white shutters and all the trimmings of a "good ol' American house." (There was even a white picket fence surrounding the fairly large yard around the property for crying out loud!) Actually, England was shocked that, with all of America's new obsession with modern art and his ever infatuation with technology, the boy insisted on asking England to this quaint house in Virginia, rather then his newer condo in New York.

"Not really, I would prefer to stay in for the night and just relax." England started, pulling off his coat once they were in the warm house and hanging it in the nearby hallway closet. America had tossed his own jacket over the mahogany railing of his staircase as he climbed up to the next level of the house, England's green carry on slung over his shoulder.

"That's cool, I figured you would want to stay home tonight. Traveling is hard for old people."

England raised an eyebrow after his lover who in turn threw a playful wink over his shoulder as he disappeared to the second floor to deposit his lover's bag into their bedroom.

England rolled his eyes and rolled up the sleeves of his sweater as he headed for the kitchen. After such a long trip a proper cup of tea was in order. The kitchen was fairly clean, save for the few dirty dishes America had left in the sink and an abandoned cup of cold coffee balancing at the edge of the light marbled counter top. The Brit pushed the cup back a safe distance so it wasn't teetering so precariously on the brink before pulling out a kettle from one of the lower wooden cabinets.

He had been here only a few times, since it wasn't America's biggest, or most convenient house. However, it was England's favorite by far. The house was surrounded by acres of rolling, deep green fields on a spacious fenced property. It was a private sanctuary to get away from everything. Maybe America had chosen this place because he knew England liked it so much. The nation blushed as he fiddled with the lid on the kettle. He really did like the idea of spending many of his days out here with America; cuddling together on the couch while England read or embroidered, cooking dinner together, going riding on America's horses…

It was an attractive idea. He smiled as he looked out the kitchen window above the sink to watch a few of the horses grazing in the field. America had always had a fondness for the animals, seeing as he still enjoyed have them around from his colonial and "Old West" days. He wished he could've seen America, back when he was a younger teenager, learning to ride horses and rope cattle and such. He wondered ideally what America would look like dressed up like a cowboy again, but shooed the embarrassing thought away before he could develop any serious problems that early in the evening.

He was in the process of filling the pot with water from the tap when two strong arms encircled his waist, causing the older nation to startle and almost drop the kettle.

"Bloody hell! Don't sneak up on me like that!" England scolded, trying to make himself as dignified as possible with the other holding him like a big teddy bear.

"Sorry Babe." America chuckled, kissing the side of England's neck gently. His arms tightening their hold on England as he trailed kisses up his throat and to the side of his head so he could kiss the ex-empire's untamable dirty blonde hair.

"Lair." England pouted, setting the kettle on the eye of the stove, switching the stovetop to a medium heat before turning in America's arms so he could face the boy, "Your not sorry at all."

America answered with a low hum as he continued to kiss England's head softly, trailing kisses until England was fed up with America beating around the bush. The Brit buried lanky fingers into golden hair, pulling the taller down as he stood on tip toe to press their lips together.

It was like that wondrous breath of air after going without it for so long. England sighed into the languid exchange of the most tender touch as they moved their lips together almost lazily. America inhaled after the brief moment, a groan of impatience rumbling in his chest as he pulled the man closer. The kiss was their first in nearly four and a half months - eighty-three days to be precise - and it was so desperately needed that it almost ached when they moved together.

They were both reluctant to pull apart, but finally England pulled back to stare up at America. Texas was sliding down America's nose even though they hadn't moved much, and a pale pink dusted along the boy's tan cheekbones. His eyes though, were what truly held England's attention, bright endlessly blue eyes - like the limitless skies outside - brimmed over with such tenderness. A tenderness that made England question what on earth he had done right to deserve this boy.

America smiled, leaning down to capture England's lips once more before whispering against them, "I really missed you."

"I missed you too." England responded, only a bit embarrassed at how high his voice had gotten from one measly kiss; one measly kiss from the most beautiful creature in his world.

America nuzzled their noses together before pulling the man into his arms again, tucking England under his chin and closing his eyes.

"God, England… four months is too long."

England agreed with that statement whole heartedly as he indulged in the embrace. Wrapping skinny arms around America's middle and inhaling America's scent. He smelled like… outside… if that made any sense. Where other's had the smell of perfumes or laundry detergents or even tobacco, America smelled like the outdoors; fresh and wild and full of energy.

"I know Love, but we have a few weeks together now. We'll get to spend all of Autumn together now."

America stayed silent, choosing instead to hold England silently, nuzzling his nose into England's locks.

The man sighed and pulled out of America's grasp, though the younger nation pouted childishly in retaliation to having to let go sooner then he wanted to. England smirked and cupped his cheeks to get his attention.

"Now don't make that face at me, we have plenty of time together." The kettle began to whistle and England turned back to the stove to retrieve the thing off the eye before the noise could get a chance to become extremely annoying.

"Now, we're going to make dinner together, talk, sit with each other, and yes before you ask, I will watch one of your God-awful movies with you."

America seemed to be satisfied with that schedule and the two fell into a rhythm that they had somehow adopted when they had started to go out. The two would flip through a recipe book together until someone pointed out one that they were in the mood for, then the other would pick out a completely different recipe to go with it. It was silly, but England enjoyed it, and America said it almost felt like a game to him.

They were careful with what they choose, making sure they already had all the ingredients; seeing as England didn't want to leave the house and America didn't wasn't to leave England. Finally they settled on Chicken Piccata (England's choice) and Parmesan-Crusted Pork Chops (America's choice).

"We should make a dessert too, I just got a whole mess load of blueberries the other day." America suggested as the two started pulling out ingredients and preheating the oven for their dishes. So they spent a bit of extra time to whip up a blueberry inspired sweet. A temporary argument was made over if they should make a pie or a tart, but England let America have his pie in the end.

Overall the evening followed England schedule rather closely, they made their dinner in relative peace, their light conversation only interrupted when England set fire to a dishrag by accident. Though England had denied that it was his fault, seeing as America had been distracting him at the moment with a small make out session that had the Brit pushed up against the pantry door. The window was opened to let the smoke out of the house and the rest of their evening went without a hitch. They had their dinner and dessert, a few hours slipping away unnoticed as the two laughed and caught up with one another.

"I'm telling you! It's not funny!" America blushed when England started laughing at the end of one of America's most recent adventures. "I swear that horse is out to kill me, I'm lucky to have escaped with my life."

England's laughing died down enough to where he could speak properly, "So I'm assuming you and her aren't getting along at the moment?"

The 'her' in question was Phoenix, a beautiful black and white paint horse that America had stumbled upon when he had acquired the place a while back. Her last owner had apparently up and left her in the stables when they had moved. America had been passing by the property nearly a month or so later and had caught a glimpse of the mare. She had been all skin and bones at that point, but America had gotten her out of the stable in time and nursed her back to health. Now the horse was happy and healthy, but when it came to riding her she was a complete terror. The horse was infamous for being irritable around strangers. Even America still had difficulty trying to get the horse comfortable with even himself on her back.

The American sighed and rubbed under the nosepieces of his glasses, "It's not funny man, I thought she would've been cool with me by now, ya know?"

England smiled sympathetically and reached across the table to pat America's unoccupied hand, "Listen Love, I know your feeling discouraged at the moment but you've got to give her time. You said you've only been able to ride her for a few weeks now right? She's been through a lot, you should know that she's not going to be completely comfortable with you for a bit longer."

America clasped England's hand, pouting a bit, "I know, but I saved her. She should be more grateful."

England rolled his eyes. Getting up to grab his and America's cleared plates to place them in the sink. He then walked back to America and gently pushed back his golden locks to kiss his forehead. "I know your excited and you want to help, but you've got to be patient with her. She's not ready to trust someone completely yet."

America pulled the Brit down into his lap and kissed his jaw as a thank you for cheering him up before looking into his eyes, "Do you want to go riding tomorrow?" He smirked up at his elder, "Maybe you can ride her since you seem to know so much about horses."

England clicked his tongue and agreed to the request, but refused the suggestion to ride that horse. She was psychotic! Not that England didn't know how to ride horses; since he had been riding them for much longer then America, but the idea of his peaceful day turning into a rodeo didn't sound all that appealing.

America smiled and kissed England one more time before both of them got up to clear the dishes away and put up the leftovers in plastic containers. England having to remind America for what seemed like the umpteenth time not to put the still hot food into the refrigerator. "Your going to make it spoil if you do that! You're lucky I'm around or else you would be wasting food." America rolled his eyes and followed up with a comment that he hardly ever cooked when he was by himself, he always either went out or ordered in.

England was able to choose the movie for that evening since America got to choose the dessert and decided to pick out a fairly recent romance comedy. It didn't matter what they watched, because more likely then not they would stop watching halfway through and end up stumbling up to the bedroom.

"You always seem to prefer chick movies." America noticed, settling onto the couch as England set about trying to figure out America's complicated as hell DVD/CD/radio/thingy-ma-bob that was hooked up to the giant screen TV. He had finally managed to cram the silver disk into the correct slot when he grumbled back under his breath something about America's own shitty taste in movies.

England finally got the movie running and went back to the couch to sit in-between America's legs so his back was resting against the boy's broader chest. "It doesn't even matter what I pick since all of my movies are better anyway."

"Why this one though? You do know that most of this movie takes place in France right?"

England groaned and was tempted to pull the DVD out right then and there, but America had spread a throw blanket over the both of them and had settled in for the movie. The Brit decided to do the same, enjoying the warmth of his boyfriend encircled around him as they began to enjoy the last bit of their scheduled evening.

"I don't get why she would want to suddenly blog. Writing is so boring…" America commented, ideally making mindless doodles on England's sweater clad arms with his finger tips. Couldn't she invest in a cooler hobby?

"Well, if she had done that her blog never would've been made into a movie now would it?" England responded, getting chills when America's fingers brushed over him a bit too lightly. "And could you stop fidgeting, your tickling my arms when you do that."

"Your ticklish?" America asked, his movement stopping for a moment to look at England.

"Well, yes. I've always been a bit-" England tilted his head to look into America's face and realized much too late that he should've just kept his mouth shut. A sinister, bone-chilling grin had spread over America's face and England was too little too late in scrambling out of America's arms before the boy locked around him, attacking his sides with jittery fingers.

England allowed a sharp gasping laugh to escape his lips before he clamped his mouth shut, else his laughter encourage the boy to persist in his new findings. Unfortunately, the one laugh was all the encouragement America needed to keep on assault England's sides. Eventually, even with England's lips firmly pressed together he couldn't help the high-pitched, muted screams sounding in his throat. He squirmed and bucked and trashed, but America was much stronger and his arm stayed fastened around him like a seatbelt.

"Let's count how many ribs England has!" America grinned, pulling up England's sweater so his palm ran the length of England's chest until his fingers came to rest on the left side of his ribcage. England thrashed a bit harder opening his mouth to laugh as America rubbed one of his ribs in a jerky side to side motion.

"One…"

His finger moved down a tiny bit until he located the next bump under the Brit's fair skin.

"Twooo…" he drew out, repeating the treatment he had given the first rib.

"Twelve! I have twelve pairs of ribs, you-" He broke of to choke out another embarrassing giggle seeing as America had never stopped moving down his chest cavity. "Pl-please America… oh-" England laughed again, his breaths coming in shorter now. "No more!"

America smirked and stopped, kissing the side of the older man's face. "Sorry England, I just couldn't resist when you - Whoa!"

America found himself on the floor in the next moment and his boyfriend pinning him to the floor.

"You think a simple apology is going to get you out of this you prat?" England playfully snarled, flashing a wicked smile at the boy trapped between his thighs. "I didn't raise you all those years without finding out which places tickle you the most."

America smirked and raised an eyebrow at the dirty blond. "You do realize you sounded like a pedophile when you said that right?"

England rolled his eyes, but otherwise ignored the comment as he twisted around to sit backwards on America's stomach. He made sure to put his whole weight down just to be difficult, and was satisfied when America wheezed under him.

"God England! And you say that I'm heavy! Have you been packin' on the pounds while you were awaaAAYYY-!"

America's question turned into a holler when England's thumbs worked gentle circles on the insides of America's knees. It was an oddly specific place to be so ticklish, at least he got the reaction he was looking for. America's laughed was boomingly loud, filling the entire room and over powered the movie still playing in the background. Unlike England, America didn't try and hid his laughter, and only got louder when England's fingers moved farther up his inner thighs where the sensitive skin was even more ticklish. It was getting more and more difficult to be teasingly gentle with his touches as America bounced and bucked and jerked so England was jostled and bouncing as well. He laughed and was reminded of America complain about Phoenix being so untamed, England could probably turn around and call America a 'wild steed' as well. It was all so ridiculous England found himself laughing along with America. That is until America had had quite enough of being tickled and had finally managed to buck England off of him, squirming away until he was panting and giggling weakly next to the coffee table a few feet away.

England was on his back too, remaining there to catch his breath as well from laughing so hard. They were such a mess; the two of them.

"Your such a freak." America chuckled, pushing himself up on his elbows to look at his boyfriend.

"Me!" England huffed from his place on the floor. "You're the one who bloody started this whole ordeal."

A hand closed around the one that was laying at his side, and England looked up to see America grinning down at him from above.

"I can't see how I started it when you were the one just begging to be touched."

England blushed and failed to retort back when America leaned down to press his lips against the Brit's.

England sighed and opted to wrap his arms around his neck to pull the younger boy on top of him. Their lips molded against the other's sweetly before America tilted his head to deepen the kiss while positioning his legs so he was straddling his lover. Fingers tangled in hair, caresses were given, and a few needy groans made it clear that they needed each other, and needed each other soon.

"You're right." England breathed against America's lips, pulling back to look up at those gorgeous blue eyes.

America looked confused, obviously having lost his train of thought when he began making out with his boyfriend. England smiled and pulled him down again, his eyes half lidded as he whispered the next bit against the shell of America's ear.

"I really do want you to touch me… America, I need you to touch me. Please, Love?"

That was all his lover needed to hear. America descended on his boyfriend in an instant, letting loose what he had been holding back since he had laid eyes on him in the airport. It was obvious that they weren't going to make it up to the bedroom when clothes were being hastily removed as tossed aside, and that England's back would be sore from making love on the floor, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered anymore. All that he cared about was above him. Holding him, kissing him, _loving _him. It didn't matter where he was, as long as it was America by his side. He was blissfully infatuated… and he wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

Finished! Sorry it took so long for me to get out another story… I've just been busy with college things and what not. Anyway, the horse Phoenix is an actual horse from the barn I use to work at. She was by far my most favorite, and she was a sweetheart when I was on the ground with her… but… whenever I managed to get on her she would rear and kick and run into fences and… Just take my word for it, she was a terror.

After writing about America trying to break Phoenix I was thinking about writing a story of England and America going riding the next day. What do you guys think?

Well, I'm gonna leave you here, and I'll see you on the next go around. Later guys. :3


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